


Weary

by angededesespoir



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Depression, Disordered Eating, F/M, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, Multi, internalized ableism, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 21:09:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10049690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angededesespoir/pseuds/angededesespoir
Summary: A self-indulgent/vent fic. thing where Ana checks in on a depressed Jack.





	

**Author's Note:**

> _Hello & welcome to another episode of me projecting onto Jack. *Pats his back* This poor man and the things I put him through._
> 
>  
> 
> _(Can also be read on[Tumblr](http://angededesespoir.tumblr.com/post/157897333285/weary).)_

The knock on the door has him jolting upright.  He looks from the bright screen  to the entrance of the dimly-lit room.

Ana enters, flicking on the lights, and Jack winces, tries to shield his eyes as he rapidly blinks.

“Jack.  The meeting is soon.  You need to head over.”  


He moves his hand away, but instead of meeting her gaze, he stares back at his screen.

“I know.  A few more minutes.”  


“Jack.”  She makes her way around his desk, sits on the edge.  (She knows he won’t protest.  Even though there are papers near her that could easily fall off.  And even though he would never dare let someone else get away with this.)  She runs a hand through his hair, nudges his head up.  


He tries his best to avert his eyes as she takes him in.  There are more strands of grey shining amongst the blond.  His hair is messy, like he just rolled out of bed.  But the dark rings under his eyes and the look of utter exhaustion say differently.

“You haven’t been sleeping, again, have you?”  


“I’m fine.”  


“Did you even try the sleeping pills Angela gave you?”  


He stares in the direction of the screen, not taking anything in; just trying to avoid meeting her eyes.  He fears that if he looks, she’ll _know_. 

Know just how bad he’s gotten, how much he’s failed. 

 He was not cut out for this.

“I’m fine, Ana.”  


“Jack...”  She lightly brushes his cheek.  “How are you on your paperwork?”  


She notes the hesitation that flickers through his features, knows he’s carefully weighing his options on what to say.  She’s been by his side too long, knows how to read him.

“I’m a little behind.”  


It’s an understatement.  He’s swamped.  The reports and requests keep piling and he lacks the energy, the focus, he once had to do it all.  He’s only one man, but lately he hasn’t even felt complete.  

He still has the drive, the dream, but he’s grown weary.  He tries to tell himself that it’s just a rut; that if he pushes himself hard enough, he’ll just snap out of it.  He knows it’s not that, knows it’s not that easy.

He feels her warm lips press against his forehead.  “I’ll help you, Habibi.  Send me some of the work.  I have time on my hands.”

“Ana-”

“Shhhh,” she interrupts him, “I have your back.  I always have and I always will.  You need a break, Jack. Let me assist you.”

He lets her hold him close, lets her soothingly touch him and press more kisses to his head.

It fills him with guilt.  It’s more than he deserves.  He’s just a burden now.  He can’t understand why she’s so determined to support him, why she’s not trying to vie for his position.  

“When was it that you last ate?”  


He dreads the question.  The hours have been blurring together, rolling into days.  He has little semblance of an actual schedule anymore.  There’s always something that needs to be done, somewhere he needs to go.  There is never enough time.  And with the amount of energy he’s lacking, eating has just become another chore.

If he’s being honest, he hasn’t had much of an appetite lately.  If he’s being more honest, frankly, sometimes he doesn’t think he deserves to eat, doesn’t deserve to live.

Why should he, of all people, be sitting here, when so many others have died, are still dying?  And he can’t seem to do a damn thing.

“I...don’t know.”  


“Athena?”  


The system's voice echos throughout the room.  “Strike-Commander Morrison last ate 26 hours and 46 minutes ago.  He consumed-”

“ **Enough.**  Enough, Athena.”  


“Yes, Strike-Commander.”  


The voice clicks off, leaves them in silence.  Every second that passes makes him want to curl in further, try to hide, try to avoid her touch.

He does not deserve gentle hands.  He deserves fists.  Deserves the insults the crowds hurl at him, the scoldings from the U.N., ... the empty bed he used to share.

He practically flinches when Ana's voice breaks through the quiet.

“Jack, I’m going to help you get ready for the meeting.  After, we’re going to have lunch and some tea.  Then we discuss things.”    


She bends to kiss his head again.  “I care about you.  We all care about you.  We’re worried.”  

The way she squeezes him close is almost suffocating, but he still can’t help but lean into it.

“You’re not alone, Jack.”  


He’d like to believe that, he really would.

But by the time she lets go, he already feels the world plummeting back down on his shoulders.

If he’s being honest, he’s not sure how much longer he can do this.

He knows only that he must.

The war goes on.....


End file.
